Sunder (45 page)

Epilogue

A fine layer of dust covered the beautiful china tea cup and a brown film covered the untouched beverage inside it. Undoubtedly, Elizabeth had left a hot cup of tea and milk on the desk in anticipation of Isabella’s return, though she had to know how unlikely it was. Sweet Elizabeth.

The first day of deliberations had been a dull affair, full of Paul Canaan’s musings about physics and righteous interjections about duty and morality from Gabriel. Alfredo had said nothing, as his opinion was clearly no longer valued. He had tried several times to cement the details of Shannan’s confinement, only to be told that ‘the girl’ was an issue for later. Tired from a long day of sitting in those uncomfortable chairs, the council had finally adjourned, though none of them were permitted to go home. They were sequestered to the Launch Depot and they had all retired to their respective offices—all but Alfredo. He had come to Isabella’s office.

Her long-cold tea on the desk and her uniform hanging from the curtain rod, it seemed at any moment she could stroll through the door and admonish him for sitting at her desk. But he would never again see his child. He could only hear her voice, aged and raspy as it was, on the recording she had made for him. It was the last, best remnant of her—better even than the pictures of her as a child, smiling with her hair in lopsided pigtails. He had so wanted her to live a happy life, to grow old with someone she loved and who loved her. And it appeared she had. But it seemed to him, from what Shannan had said, and from the coy remarks of his daughter, that Isabella had done more than live a happy life for herself. She had touched the lives of others, just as Monica had always hoped for their daughter.

“Stefania,” he called for office computer.

“Yes, Councilman Jaramillo?” the mechanized voice responded, sounding eerily like the real Stefania.

“Bring up all the images you have of Shaftesbury Abbey.”

“For which dates?”

“All dates. And all image types.”

An eruption of light and color filled the room as the requested images swirled around him—photographs of museum exhibits, paintings of the Abbey exterior, and crude rubbings. They went back centuries. The Abbey itself was burned to ash in the 1500s, leaving only the museum as a record of what was. Even if there had been a remnant of Isabella in the Abbey, there would be nothing left of it.

“Stefania, search all the images for the word ‘Deorca.’”

Defying his downtrodden expectation, the computer responded immediately with, “There is one image fitting this description.”

Alfredo sucked in his breath, tears filling his eyes, as the mass of images disappeared, leaving only one. It was one of the rubbings. The bright, crisp image floating in front of his face showed the old, fragile paper in which someone very long ago had taken chalk and rubbed a relief of a gravestone. His daughter’s gravestone.

Gasping in a swallow of air, he averted his eyes from the paper itself, which he could not read, to the translation plaque below it. This gravestone, the plaque said, was placed directly next to the grave of King Edward the Martyr, which was unusual both for a woman and a commoner.

“You always…” he broke off, both a sob and a laugh catching his throat. “You always had to have the best of everything, didn’t you Isabella?”

Collapsing into the chair, he bawled unashamed as he read his daughter’s tombstone.

Here lies Deorca, Woman Tanner

Wife of Sigbert, Servant of Shaftesbury

Good and Faithful Child of God

That’s my girl,
he could only think the words and he cried into his hands.
That’s my girl.

Kristin McTiernan

Kristin McTiernan was born the daughter of a career military man and spent her childhood bouncing from one country to another. Her love of writing surfaced early, and upon discovering the double threat of comic books and Star Trek in middle school, Kristin spent the majority of her spare time creating new worlds and interesting people to populate them. Following in her parents’ footsteps, Kristin enlisted in the Marine Corps at 17 and, upon her discharge three years later, settled into a life pursuing her love of words. She achieved her bachelor’s degree in English from Emporia State University in her home state of Kansas and works as an editor to support her writing addiction. She lives in Las Vegas with her husband and dog.

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